Moonlight Over Bourbon Street
by MrBenzedrine
Summary: Takes place after Jackson's death. Hayley tries to drown herself in a bottle of bourbon -Elijah comes to comfort. Rated M for mature content and a bittersweet lemon. ONESHOT!


**This is my first, ever, Elijah/Hayley fic! I hope everyone loves. Rated M for lemons. I am usually a Draco/Hermione writer in the Harry Potter fanfic universe, but I love The Originals, and truly love Elijah and Hayley.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The Originals. CW does, and aren't they lucky? I will not make a profit from this story.**  
 **~A.**

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 **"Guillotine" by Jon Bellion**

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Soft moonlight drips through the curtains of the bedroom, illuminating the backdrop of New Orleans. A soft cadence of unbridled American Jazz echoes in the distance -but it's upbeat notes ring sour in Hayley's ears as she sits quietly at the edge of the windowsill. New Orleans, she thinks, is a cruel, ever partying bitch. Why else would She continue to stain her streets with booze and drunkards and confetti when She should be weeping for the loss of Jackson Kenner?

New Orleans, she surmised, simply mirrored those who fed her most often: The Mikaelsons. They, too, seemed to move on so dismissively through the currents of their own political affairs, too caught up in Klaus's problematic endeavors to feel what _she_ felt. Maybe it was because none of them had gone so far as to make a bond as deep as the vows of marriage. Maybe that was why they felt only the surface mourning, even now.

Freya has agreed to watch Hope for the evening, and to that Hayley is thankful, as well as relieved. An undercurrent of guilt flows inside her gut, because she knows being a mother means making sacrifices. But, just for tonight, Hayley places her Mother hat back on the shelf and opts for a new one: grieving widow. Paired with it sits a generous bottle of untouched bourbon on the edge of the sill beside her. She doesn't bother with a glass; she simply removes the stopper and begins the daunting task of drowning her sorrows. Tonight, she can think about Jacks. Tomorrow, she will have to bottle it up like the bourbon and carry her sadness with her while she fights alongside the Mikaelsons once again. Because, despite what she knows to be true, that the Originals bring suffering anywhere they go, they are still family. She's been looking for family her entire life -she isn't about to turn her back on them now.

But she knows she has an obligation to the pack. To her daughter. Her obligation to Klaus is only one in a long line of grievances she's constantly forced to face. Damn him. The father of her child he was, he still was a murdering, pathological narcissist Hell bent on forcing everyone in the French Quarter to shake in their boots at the mention of his name.

Hayley's lips quirk up, knowing that he has no power over her. Not really.

More bourbon sloshes down the back of her throat as she tilts the bottle into her mouth.

"Bourbon is meant to be sipped."

The familiar voice forces her to chug a few more unhealthy gulps of liquor before she finds the will to stop the torment on her throat. She places the bottle between her legs, staring down towards the cobblestoned streets outside her window. "Go away, Elijah."

Due to her extensive hearing, she can hear his heart elevate in his sternum, though he makes no movements otherwise. She doesn't need to turn her head to imagine him standing there in one of his three pieces suits, hair slicked back, his right hand playing precariously with his left cufflink -she's picked up on the fact it's his nervous habit. He's scared of saying the wrong thing, and he should be. Now is not the time to pay his respects. Now is the time to keep as far away from her as possible.

"Forgive me, Hayley, I…" He pauses, assessing the situation. She attempts to control her own heartbeat as it slams frantically in her chest. "... only meant to pay my condolences."

She takes another swig of her bourbon, shaking her head slowly. "Don't want them." An uneasy silence filters between them, and a new guilt emerges: she knows he is trying. At least someone is. "Unless you can bring Jackson back, I don't want to hear any sympathy." She looks over her shoulder, eyes snapping onto his. "You got that?"

Elijah is talented in the art of appearances, but even she can see the pain etched in his eyes -the confusion on how he should proceed. This is unfamiliar territory for the both of them. After all, it's no secret the feelings they share for one another, underneath it all. And it's too soon to bring those up, what with Jackson's body ritually burned only this evening. Soon, she'll bury his heart under a sapling: a gift to Hope to remember him by when she gets older.

"Maybe… it's better this way," she hears herself whisper, but doesn't believe what she's about to say. "Jackson was too kind to be caught up with us. He was gonna go, one way or another. I guess I should have prepared myself-" she cuts herself off with a sob, covering her mouth with her hand. Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, but she washes them down with another heft pull of bourbon. Elijah becomes brave and takes a step inside the room. Brave and stupid, Hayley thinks, though she doesn't tell him to leave again.

"I cannot begin to imagine the pain you must be feeling at this moment," he offers, treading carefully across the slatted floor. "To lose a spouse, I imagine, is one of the cruelest of hardships. One you needn't endure _alone_." He stands at the windowsill, gesturing to it. "May I?"

Hayley nods. "Um… sure. Knock yourself out."

Elijah takes a careful seat, making sure not to tip the bourbon over in the process; it rests between the two. He's nearly ethereal against the moonlight's pale glow, and she hates herself for noticing it. Jacks is barely in the grave, and still the image of Elijah before her sends shivers down her spine in the most delightful of ways. God, she wishes her body would shut down and return to that numb depression she used to feel when she was human. Now, with her senses heightened, she feels all of her emotions like starbursts in her head, one right after the other. Having Elijah here only confuses those impulses. He should know what this does to her -maybe he does, deep down. For as selfless as he is, sometimes he can be extremely selfish.

"Hayley-"

"Don't." She throws an accusing finger up. "Just don't. I know what you're going to say. You're going to try to sit there and tell me that this isn't my fault, and that I shouldn't blame myself. Am I right?" When he doesn't answer, she gets her answer. "Right. Well, tough luck, Elijah. Jackson died because he loved me. Because he cared, and that's what got him killed." She licks her dry lips, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to vomit. No, the booze is too expensive. She'll stomach it. "How am I going to look Hope in the eye one day and tell her how Jacks…?"

Elijah scoots closer, his knees inches away from hers, but he is aware of his body and doesn't cross that metaphoric line. Though he does reach out and take her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "You will tell her of his bravery. Of what a noble and loyal husband he was, and how he defended the woman he loved until the bitter end." A gentle smile broaches his lips, encouraging. "That is what you will tell her."

Hayley's heart skips a beat, and thanks to his super hearing, he will notice. Still, he doesn't show it on his face, only continues to smile in that adoring way, as if she is someone _worth_ something. She doesn't feel it. Not tonight.

"Thank you. For being there tonight."

"Of course."

She sighs. "How do you do it?"

"Do?" He raises an eyebrow. "Do what, pray tell?"

"Smile," she answers, her eyebrows furrowing together in accusation. "After all that continuously happens to the family, you still manage to smile, even when the chips are down. How?"

Elijah tilts his head to the bottle of bourbon, picks it up, observes the stem and shrugs. "I suppose I find a reason to smile, despite the pain."

"I'm not seeing any," she admits, noticing the way he doesn't dive into the alcohol. Of course not. He's much too cordial to drink it from the spout. "You, uh, want me to get you a glass?"

His grin widens. "That would be lovely, thank you."

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Hayley stands and strolls over to the nightstand, picking up a glass tumbler. When she returns, Elijah pours himself a glass and intakes the swift aroma before sipping idly.

"You have Hope," he says, still managing to avoid her gaze while he stares aimlessly down into the Quarter. "Metaphorically and physically. You have a family, and though Jackson is a fallen bit of that family, we still stand together, strong. United. Even Niklaus will not rest until he has sworn vengeance." He takes another pull of his drink. "I vow to you, I will not rest until Jackson is avenged. You have my word."

"And as much as I appreciate that, right now…" she closes her eyes, unable to take a seat beside him again. "Right now, I just want to forget." Silence falls like a blanket this time, warming her down to her bones. Thank the spirits almighty for small miracles. Her legs were shaking moments ago, but now they've stopped. She inhales deeply, taking in the moment of peace. When she opens her eyes, she finds Elijah staring at her, mouth half open in a glazed stare, as if he is looking at the finest example of Greek marbling.

"Do you?" he asks, so timid for his usual poise. He brings his glass up to his lips, nursing its contents thoughtfully.

A spark electrifies between them -or, maybe, it's just Hayley's heightened senses playing tricks on her mind. She feels everything: the pain, the torment, the unmissable guilt associated with losing Jackson.

"I do," she says, though what does that _mean_? It can't mean much at all, because she won't let him compel her emotions away, and she most certainly doesn't mean a physical release -does she? No. It's just the bourbon talking. The bourbon and the guilt.

"Tell me what to do," he whispers.

The ball is in her court. She knows that now. What she says next will determine if lines, so formally drawn, will be wiped away or etched harder in the dirt. Grief, she knows, does funny things to people. So she blurs one line, hoping to sate the spark in her chest.

"Hold me."

Elijah doesn't need to be told twice -he swigs the rest of his bourbon back in a, nearly, ungathered way, though he still manages to make it look so elegant. Then, he rises to stand and crosses the little bit of space between them, carefully approaching like a lion would a small deer. His arms extend, and the next thing Hayley knows, she's being pulled against him, her face automatically tucking beneath his chin to inhale is scent. Besides the obvious spritz of expensive cologne, there is a smell that can only be described as Elijah -earthy, like pine trees, but refreshing, like ocean water.

Her hands gather around him instinctively, rubbing soft lines up and down his spine -another line, she notices, she easily dismisses while she draws her own against his covered skin. He's so warm. So inviting. Charismatic, charming, calm. Elijah had a way of radiating sensibility anywhere he went -he does so now, making Hayley forget herself for a moment. This feeling of being held in his arms has given her one iota of happiness- a way to not feel, even if for the slightest of moments.

"Hayley," he starts, whispering into her hair, "You have to know, I would never have wished this on you. Had I known what would happen I-"

"Shh," she coaxes against his throat, a tear slipping down her cheek. "If I'm not allowed to blame myself, neither are you. Deal?"

Elijah's face tilts down, nearly touching noses with her. His breath is divine -peppermints and blood, and it's so _wonderful_. Next to him, she can feel her problems drifting, lost inside that bottle of bourbon on the sill.

"Deal," he smiles, looking deep into her eyes.

There's a moment where she considers walking away. Picking up that bourbon again. Letting the melancholy melody outside carry her off into an uneven sleep. But she can't. She finds herself glued against Eljiah's chest like a life buoy, dare she let go and find herself drowning in loss.

"Help me," she whispers.

His face softens, though his eyebrows drawn together, torn in his resolve to be steadfast and his yearning to give into something primal beneath the surface. They're no stranger to their desires. Even Jackson was able to recognize Hayley's unstoppable way of holding a candle for this vampire anywhere she went. But she loved Jackson. Loved him like the earth loves the sun and its ability to light up the world. Elijah is the moon, pushing and pulling the waves of Hayley's heart. He is, and will always be, invaluable to her.

"What would you have me do?"

She doesn't think about it -she pushes up on her toes and lands a soft, passionate kiss to his lips, cradling his face in her hands. She knows it's selfish, giving into these most basic of urges, She needs to forget, if only for tonight, all of her problems. Tonight, she wants to drown herself -either in booze or in Elijah's soothing touch.

He doesn't react at first, too stunned to do much else but stand there. But then, his lips move, and he begins to kiss back, hands slinking around her waist in a possessive display of adoration. His kiss is firmer than Jackson's. Hayley is used to the softness, but this difference is crucial to her. If he doesn't feel like Jackson, it will be easier to push her pain out of her head. The last thing she needs is a reminder to choke her up with guilt for kissing Elijah for the rest of her afterlife.

Suddenly, he pulls away, cheeks reddened and eyes searching hers for any form of remorse. She stays firm in her resolve. "No," she demands, "Don't you stop." She grabs the back of his head and pulls him into another feverous kiss that has her head spinning like the bourbon never could. Her free hand goes to his tie and tugs him as she walks backward, toward the bed, kicking her shoes off in the process. Elijah groans against her lips, letting her control him. He doesn't fight her when she falls back against the silk sheets, pulling him on top of her. He doesn't say a word when she loosens the tie from around his neck and untucks his shirt from his slacks.

But he does say something when she reaches for his belt. "Hayley. Are you sure? Perhaps we should… resolve ourselves to self contr-" his words are cut off by Hayley crashing her lips against his, grinding teeth against teeth in an awkward, yet familiar rhythm. Passionately, he dips his head low and takes control of the kiss, settling her back against the bed while his tongue skirts across the apex of her lips and, finally, meets hers. It's all that's needed to convince him to stay the course, and he allows her to begin the task of unbuttoning his shirt as he, with inhuman speed, rids himself of his blazer. She gets frustrated halfway down and rips the last of the buttons, earning a tempered groan from him as he breaks their kissing.

"Need I remind you these shirts are expensive," he chides, nearly playful, though the weight of what they do is hidden in the temperance of his tone.

"Compel someone to give you a new one," she counters, smirking up at him. She can sense his weariness, and she reaches up, coaxing a hand down his cheek. "It's alright, Elijah. Really. Please… help me."

She knows she is his own, personal kryptonite. It isn't fair, what she asks him to do, but she does it anyway. Because, underneath it all, she will always love Jackson, but she will, also, always love Elijah.

And he will, always, love her.

He gains his composure after a moment and nods firmly, determined to take away her pain. Soft lips find her neck, and he trails brazen kisses, licks, and tender bites along her throat, nipping at her pulsepoint. It's heaven in the most exquisite of ways. Elijah has had one thousand years of physical practice to aid in his sexual endeavors, and it reflects through the ministrations he bestows as he commands her legs open with one quick tug to her thigh while simultaneously kneading her breast through her shirt with just the right amount of pleasure. With her legs parted, he finds a place between them, pressing the growing erection of his against the heat hidden underneath her skinny jeans. Hayley can't take it -she grinds her hips upwards, relishing in the sweet friction as their pelvises grind against each other. His breath catches between nibbles to her collarbone, and, with a precise movment, he yanks the fabric of her shirt apart at the middle, exposing her bra and stomach.

"That's my favorite shirt," she gasped between breaths.

"What is it you told me? Compel someone for a new?" He smirks. His lips travel lower, pulling down one bra cup to take her small breast in his mouth. His tongue is experienced and works intricate designs against her sensitive nub in ways no man has done. Not even Klaus -of course, the sex between them left no room for foreplay. It was more like a sexual marathon of crashing genitals that meant nothing. Elijah means everything to her -he's the one thing, she knows, who has stayed constant, despite all of the world's depravities. One thousand years, and he still has yet to die. He's nearly unbreakable, this prophecy be damned. It's what makes him so _safe_.

After giving her other breast the same affection, he kisses down her stomach, licking here and there, dipping his tongue down over the crevice of her belly button, until he meets the top of her jeans.

"We could stop," he offers, controlled in the sound of his voice.

"No." She shakes her head. "Don't you dare."

The next thing she knows, her jeans have been discarded, as well as her underwear, and -oh, _God_. That tongue of his rests gently against her clitorus, eliciting a string of obsenities from her lips as her fingers dig into her perfect hair and rough it up. "Fuck…" She hears his amused chuckle, but doesn't comment, because the sensation is so goddamn wonderful she can't think straight. "Elijah… yes…. Right there…"

His tongue glides against her wet folds, parting them, taking in every rich flavor and every subtle nuance. He traces a line all the way back up to her clit before kissing it sensually. "You taste heavenly," he growls, a new fire lit to life inside of him as he dives back in for another taste. He laps at her, rubbing his tongue against the sensitive button, drawing out primal sounds she isn't used to producing. And just when she thinks it couldn't feel any better, he slips his middle finger into her, all while maintaining that glorious tonguing against her most sensitive of areas.

If she thought his tongue felt great, it can only be heightened in pleasure by his sure finger which works inside of her, finding the sensitive bundle of spongy nerves near instantly, causing her hips to buck automatically. "Fuck!" she cries out, throwing her head back as a bead of sweat glistens off her forehead. "Yes, Elijah. Don't stop. Just like that."

He makes quick work of building her to the near brink of ecstasy before slowing down the pace and falling just short. She thinks it's an accident, at first, until he does it again and again. He's purposefully teasing her, preparing her for elation before taking it all away.

"Please," she begs, fisting his hair. "Please, I need… have to…"

"Say it."

She whimpers. "Make me come, Elijah. Please."

And then he does, moving his hand expertly while flicking his tongue quickly over her clit. Hayley cries out, stars bursting behind her eyes so that she sees them in her vision, tiny spouts of white light dancing across the ceiling. Her breath comes in jagged pants. Her legs quiver around his head. Elijah smirks as he continues to lick her through her orgasm, lapping up every sweet drip of cum he can. When he's convinced she's spent, he removes his finger and pulls himself up to drape between her legs, gliding his finger over her lips. Hayley needs no prompting -she gladly sucks on his finger, tasting herself until there's nothing left. He watches only her eyes, which bore into his own.

"In me," she says when she finishes, and she reaches for his belt again. She slips it off and to the floor, next going to work on his button and zipper with haste. Elijah groans softly when she tucks her hand beneath his boxer briefs and retrieves him, hard and ready and wanting. She nods once, letting him know this is okay, and he nods twice in return, solidifying his resolve. They only have eyes for each other as she guides him to her entrance, and, with a tender roll of his hips, he slips inside of her, filling her up slowly. Her muscles automatically tighten at the feel of his girth, but she wills herself to relax, drawing her hands up to the sides of his face to whisper, "Thank you."

Elijah leans forward, his cock sinking to the hilt, as he places a gentle kiss on her forehead. They stay that way, eye to eye, body molded against body, until Hayley can take it no longer, and she moves against him. Elijah sighs softly, automatically moving against her. Soon, they're two waves crashing against one another, hands grasping whatever they can, be it an arm, hair, or a thigh. They're determined to pour themselves into the reverent lovemaking, if they can call it that. The rhythmic slaps of skin fill the room, along with Hayley's mewls and gasps of delight. It feels so good, if only for the moment, to be wrapped in Elijah's arms like this. Because here, she's safe. She doesn't have to worry about him the way she does for Hope, or her pack, or the way she did Jackson. Elijah is unbreakable, like her. He can withstand and endure. He is forever, and he, eventually, is where she can rest her heart again.

She rakes her nails down his back, harsh and bitter. "Fuck me," she demands.

Elijah bites at the crook of her neck, snapping his hips and obeying her command. She curls her legs around his waist and rests her feet on his back, taking every painful, blissful thrust. Her head falls back, and her eyes close. The bed creaks under their forceful encounter, but if it breaks, so be it. They can find a new bed. Hell, they can buy a hundred new beds if it means they can screw each other senselessly into them.

Hayley can feel the buildup of another orgasm and surprises Elijah by flipping him over onto his back with him still fully inside her. She rests her hands on his chest, making eye contact as she begins to move her hips against him, creating a rhythm of her own. Elijah tucks one hand behind his head, resting the other on her thigh, and allows her to ride him, trying very hard not to groan too loudly. Hayley snaps her hips, picking up speed, grinding her clit against him while angling his cock inside her in just the right ways. Her eyes flutter close. She reaches up and fists her hair and comes undone around him, tightening and quivering as the heat of her orgasm washes over her like a baptismal hurricane.

"Yes," Elijah whispers, reaching up to cup her breast with the hand that was on her thigh, "So beautiful."

Hayley bites her lower lip and dares to open her eyes, meeting his. They smile, bashful, and yet so animalistic. Elijah takes the reigns, settling both hands on her hips and guiding her on top of him, building himself up. Their eyes never leave each other for the time it takes him to come inside of her. When he does, he leans up and captures her lips with a devilishly seductive kiss, causing them both to groan into each other's mouths.

That night, Hayley doesn't think about the pain, or Jackson's death, or her anguish. She buries her face in the crook of Elijah's arm and falls asleep to the soft, humble sounds of the saxophone being played in the French Quarter.

Tomorrow, she will wake up, grieve, and press forward.

Tonight, she allows herself the comfort of leaving her troubles behind inside a bottle of bourbon, and instead allowing herself one iota of happiness in her own, personal Hell.

Just the one. And his name was Elijah.

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 **Hope you love! Feel free to leave a review. :D**  
 **~A.**


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